


2018 Kisses, Maybe More

by DinosaurTheology



Series: Johnny and Dora [17]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Cute, F/M, Fluff, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, New Years, OTP Feels, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Soulmates, Short & Sweet, Soulmates, Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-07 23:48:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13446003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinosaurTheology/pseuds/DinosaurTheology
Summary: Jake and Amy ring in the New Year together. Jake is bad at math.





	2018 Kisses, Maybe More

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got my New Year's story up! Advanced EMT school is eating my life. But I couldn't NOT write something for these two for New Year's.

Overtime, especially overtime in uniform, wasn't anything super special. Yeah, some people acted like any time spent at time-and-a-half was golden, and in a place as competitive as the NYPD there was probably some truth to that, but having to put on your blue goon suit and walk the streets to do it? No thank you. That was Jake Peralta's usual opinion, at least. If it had been in his own house, in his jeans and comfortable shoes working his own cases, well, yeah... that was one thing. That was just getting paid to get ahead on what he was going to be doing anyway. But not being a patrolman was, like, specifically why he had become a detective in the first place. Well, that and the whole solving crimes and protecting the city thing.

It wasn't so bad tonight, though, even if it was colder out than a meat locker on Pluto and every dingbat in the city had decided to come out and get his or her respective drink on. Overtime on New Year's Eve in Times Square, even if it was in this uniform he'd studied his ass off for a gold shield to get away from, was actually a pretty dope way to spend twelve hours. The energy was good, the crowd mostly more interested in having a good time than breaking stuff that didn't belong to them and New York style hot dogs, the really good ones that were more like sausages and that came with caramelized peppers and onions, only cost three dollars instead of the usual five.

The thing that made this overtime really special, though, that really turned it into something to be enjoyed rather than endured was that Amy had gotten the assignment with him. He didn't know what strings had been pulled or but Jake Peralta was a man who knew what palms to grease and vintage pomade in the hands of a personnel officer and rockabilly enthusiast created some very greasy palms indeed. You didn't get paid to go on a date with your sweetie everyday, especially not at time-and-a-half in the coolest, romantic place in the world so that you could share a kiss with her while the New Year's ball dropped right in front of your faces.

Something occurred to him about those last nine words. He chuckled. Amy, her head resting softly on his shoulder, said, “What's so funny, babe?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Nothing. Just got a good bead on the title of our New Year's sex tape.”

“Something, something, and that's how the ball drops?” Her voice was muzzed, a little sleepy from already working a ten hour shift earlier in the day before jumping on this opportunity for overtime with him tonight.

“Sounds good,” he said, “sounds good. I like it. Not super graceful but you're having fun, you're getting on up in there, getting your feet wet a little.”

“Also a good title for a sex tape, maybe.”

“Getting your feet wet a little?”

“A lot of people would really, you know, get off on that, I think.”

“I...” He blinked. “I think that I have simultaneously learned two possibly important thing about you.”

“Whuzzat?”

“Number one that you are, in fact, capable of occasionally making a joke and having it be—and this is from a joke-master supreme of the galaxy, here—absofreakinglutely hilarious. The second is that you kinda maybe have a foot fetish.”

“I do not!” She smacked the padded front of his jacket hard enough for him to feel even through the layers of wool and kevlar. “I just happen to be the kind of lady that kind of appreciates a well-turned, delicate foot.”

“You say that now,” he said, “but just you wait... one day you're gonna be, like, huddled in a pile of rubber feet and orthopedic shoes, furiously masturbating, weeping and ranting about the connection between 'sole' and 'soul.'”

She giggled. “You know what that sounds like, don't you?”

“Yep.” He grinned. “Another super awesome foot fetish sex tape.”

“We could be exploring a whole new genre, here,” she said. “I think we might have a best seller on our hands.”

“Nah, Ames, I think it would be more appropriate to say we have it on our feet, wouldn't it?”

Before she could answer, and he was certain it would have been as enlightening as her previous bon mots, the radios on their collars keyed up. A dispatcher's voice crackled across it: “Squad Four respond code three to a reported altercation at Jane's Street and Washburn Lane.”

Amy depressed the call button on her radio. “Squad Four copy. Show us en route to scene.” She stood and brushed imaginary crumbs off her jacket. “Time to go work, honey.”

His eyes lit up. “Am I gonna get to see you thrash someone? Cause I wanna see you thrash someone.”

She rolled her eyes. “We just branched out into the foot fetish world, babe. I don't think we need to add any BDSM to that just yet.”

“True dat,” he said, “true dat.”

They made their way to the corner of Washburn and Jane. An altercation had, indeed, erupted between a tall, broad-shouldered man with a beard—even bigger than Terry, Jake noted, in case getting physical did become necessary—and a shorter but not much less muscular woman with dark brown skin. A smaller man, Jake assumed her husband or boyfriend but who really knew, seemed like making a heroic effort to forestall violence. As all three were a trifle intoxicated, however, this was less effective than it could have been.

“So, guys,” Jake said, not stepping between the belligerent parties but making his presence known, “what's going on here? Got a little debate club going?”

The big man scowled, noticed the shiny shields on these interlopers and glared down at his boots. “Nothing, officer. This little jagoff crammed into me and made me spill my beer all down my shirt. Goddamn thing cost about ten fucking dollars, too. I was gonna, you know, ask him sorta polite like to reimburse me for it but then this yappy bitch got up in my face.”

Said yappy bitch poked a finger into his beefy chest. “What you were gonna do was pummel my man, you Neanderthal, and it was gonna be the last thing you did while you were able to father children.”

He motioned to bat her finger away but she was quick, quick enough that Jake wouldn't have enjoyed having to box with her, so he just started to grumble instead. Amy cut off whatever wisdom he was about to offer by saying, “Neanderthals weren't all that dumb, you know.”

Both parties offered her a confused stare. Jake smiled to himself. He'd seen this tactic before. “What the actual hell?”

“Neanderthals were pretty smart,” she said. “Invented art, were the first ones to sing in the minor key, buried their dead... smart guys.”

“Lady,” the big man said, “if you'll pardon me all I wanted to do was pound this little creep. I didn't sign up for no anthropology lecture.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. But if you make a move towards pounding him I'm gonna hit you with my taser.” She slapped the black holster on her left hip. “That's fifty-thousand volts and it's gonna sting like all hell. You'll fall down and get way more than just a little beer on your shirt.”

“What makes you think I won't just jump you instead, little girl?”

She smiled sweetly. “My partner would hit you with his taser, then... and Jake's aim with that thing is terrible. I mean, he's great with a gun but... I've never seen him get those prongs stuck anywhere but in somebody's junk and then just shock the crap out of it.” She shuddered. “I don't want that for you, but... the heart wants what it wants, right?”

“My heart don't want that,” he said. “Nor my junk neither.”

“Then what you need to do is just apologize to this guy and you all go and enjoy the New Year, okay?”

“All right,” he said, “okay. If he'll apologize for spilling my beer.”

“Deal!” he said. The woman heaved a heavy sigh but said nothing. The men exchanged apologies and both groups went their separate ways, two ships in the night whose collision had been narrowly prevented by Neanderthal man and the Thomas A. Swift Electrical Rifle.

When they finished reporting the incident clear by radio, Jake squeezed her shoulder. “That was amazing, babe.”

She shrugged. “They didn't really wanna fight. Might have made an interesting menage a trois, though.”

He chuckled. “You are just branching out all over the place in your porn scenarios, aren't you?”

“It's good to broaden your artistic horizons,” she said, checked her watch and pouted. “I think we're too far away to get back and see the ball drop, though. There goes our sex tape.”

He slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her. “Doesn't matter. That's the important thing.”

She kissed him back and smiled. “It wasn't the New Year yet, you goober. You're supposed to kiss me at twelve.” 

“I'll kiss you then, too,” he said, “and then at twelve oh one and twelve fifteen and twelve thirty and get the picture? I'm gonna kiss you all year. Two thousand and eighteen kisses for two thousand eighteen.”

She frowned. “I only get five and a half kisses per day?”

“That's all that would be?” He grimaced. “Damn I have got to get better at math. Anyway, doesn't matter... two thousand and eighteen, two hundred thousand two thousand and eighteen... I'm gonna kiss you a lot.”

She turned into him and slipped her arms around his neck. He felt her breath and heart quicken against him, her huge, dark eyes boring into his. “That sounds like a plan to me, mister.”

“The kissing or getting better at math?”

“Oh, shut up and get to work,” she said. He complied.


End file.
